


A Shattered and Spilled Wine Glass

by ShockWonder



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Danganmon
Genre: Apologies., Including who else is in the story., These are all characters from Danganmon, Though I cannot provide any more details for spoilers.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28799874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShockWonder/pseuds/ShockWonder
Summary: Cyrillo is taken back to a memory of his in an instant.It's a nice thing, really, until he's snapped out of reality again.
Kudos: 7





	A Shattered and Spilled Wine Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Welp. I've gotten into Danganmon too. When will the harassment of Fangan characters from all over the fandom stop? I don't know.
> 
> Anyway, spoilers for Danganmon, and this is NOT AT ALL canon by any means. This is NOT AT ALL canon. It has been confirmed to not be canon at all.

Cyrillo is practically on his knees at this point, scared and begging as Kami stands there, and Cyrillo is left at her mercy, his life in her hands.

  
  
  


As she stands there, the knife pointed downward in her hands but ready to attack at any point, Cyrillo prays.

  
  
  


He prays for a moment’s grace to take over and save him, before Kami does anything she’s not supposed to.

And God, he’s terrified. To say he isn’t is a hell of an understatement.

“Please, please, please, I beg of you, please… I don’t want to die so soon… please, I’m begging you, save me, please…”

And he’s so shut down at this point that he’s collapsed on the ground, nervous as he just prays and hopes that Kami doesn’t take away his life, quietly on the ground, shrunk into a ball, his knees to his chest.

Kami can hear Cyrillo as he quietly sobs.  
  
“Cyrillo.”

  
 _Please don’t take me,_ he thinks.  
  
 **“Cyrillo.”**

He just needs Kami to have mercy on him, please have mercy, please have mercy, please have mercy, **please have mercy-**

**_“Cyrillo! Wake up!”_ **

“H-Huh?”

He suddenly jolts up from where he was on the floor just a minute ago, to see that he’s suddenly back at the hotel he manages, as the maître d'. He’s now in uniform, and on a bench. Did he conk out?

“Cyrillo, goodness! The dinner service at the restaurant just started! We need you at the front! Are you alright? Are you sick? Do you need to go home early?”

“What? Ah, pardonne-moi, je ne sais pas... I’m fine, merci.”

It’s… so oddly familiar to him. Why is he back here? Wasn’t he just in the kitchen and cowering in fear of what Kami might do to him?

“...zut, perhaps that was all a REALLY bad dream of sorts. But at least I’m safe… whew.”

He dusts himself off and heads to the front, where, as said before, he’s supposed to be on duty. Thankfully, he hasn’t missed much, and gets to work making sure every customer at the restaurant has the best experience possible—nothing too hard for the ultimate maître d', though.

It goes pretty quickly for Cyrillo, oddly enough. Somehow, everyone clears the restaurant quicker than he remembers, and they all seem really satisfied with their meals!

Maybe it’s just his talent speaking.

As the rest of the staff get to cleaning, Cyrillo joins in, still feeling a bit weird from the sudden transition from his… nightmare? Could he call it such?

This, anyway, to suddenly coming back to his old job, and old life.

...odd.

Very odd, to say the least.

“Ah, wait!”

Someone calls out from inside the restaurant. Cyrillo immediately turns to look at the person, knowing very well no one should be in the restaurant since the dinner service is over.

The person comes over, yet Cyrillo can’t seem to get a grasp on what they look like.

...what’s happening to him?

“Before I leave, I’d like to give the staff a gift! Goodness, the service today was remarkable, and I’d like to show my gratitude! Have this!”

He’s handed a pinot noir—a red wine. It’s got a screw cap. Judging by the label, it hasn’t been aged for too long, but that’s fine.

“Ah. Merci beaucoup. I will tell the rest of them, thank you.”

The person walks away skipping, whistling a happy tune.

“Ah, tout le monde! It seems someone wanted to give us _un cadeau—_ a gift, today, for our remarkable service! Shall we enjoy this?”

“Sure!” one person pipes in, and the rest eventually show agreement.

“C’est bon! Grab the wine glasses, but please be aware that if we use them, we’ll have to wash them later. Vous comprenez?”

  
Everyone gives an affirmative remark.

“Alright, everyone! Enjoy!”

Cyrillo unscrews the cap on the wine, and portions out the wine perfectly among the staff.

“Now, everyone, a tip for the best tasting experience.”

Everyone turns to listen.

“First off: please try not to interfere in any sort of way. Any sort of interruption relating to any of the five senses can ruin a wine-tasting experience. That includes the visuals, the taste, and the smell. The touch… well, I think that’s self-explanatory, if you drop the glass. And any noise can disrupt concentration.”

“Now, a quick evaluation: take a look at the wine. Straight into the glass first, then to the light, and then tilt the glass so the wine rolls towards the edges of the glass. Don’t spill it, though.”

“This will give you a proper look at the wine’s color range. Luckily, it has a pale brick shade, which would suggest a pinot noir. C’est bon signe. There also seem to be no issues with the wine. No murkiness, and it’s clear.”

“Next. Swirl the glass to get a good sense of the alcohol and glycerol content: a core part of the wine. I suggest you do it flat on the table, as I know for a fact not all of you are experienced with tasting it. However, moi?”

Cyrillo masterfully swirls the glass in the open air, much to the amazement of his colleagues.

“Hm. There are no legs—the trails that go down the glass thanks to the droplets. It doesn’t have too much alcohol. Alright, that works with a pinot noir.”

“Now, take a few light sniffs of the wine. You may not be able to, but more masterful tasters will detect distinct aromas that characterize wines. Now, as for me…”

Cyrillo carefully hovers his nose above the wine glass, taking a few whiffs.

But instead of the usual scents and aromas that he might usually find, instead, he smells…

...metal.

...metal?

...metal!

Wait a second.

“Metal? Why does the wine smell metallic? Un moment.”

Against all good judgement of his, Cyrillo takes a sip immediately after, suddenly concerned as to what could have happened to the wine.

He spits it out immediately, in aghast. 

He collapses on the floor. The wine glass he was holding shatters with him, spilling the wine in it.

Speaking of which, it tastes horrible. It’s too thick, and it doesn’t feel as clear as earlier when he evaluated it. It tastes of iron, with a mild sweetness that’s MUCH too concerning because it doesn’t taste like wine at all. It feels like he’s going to choke on it-

...oh, god.

  
  
  


Cyrillo realizes what has transpired.

He removes his hand, to find…

...blood.

...blood?

... **BLOOD!**

Someone rushes to him, and gets him back on his feet.

A pain arises in his stomach.

Cyrillo gasps in horror, as more somehow comes out of his mouth, despite the small sip he’d taken. It starts pouring out of his mouth, as his colleagues scream in horror and start running to call medics.

  
  
  


“Cyrillo?!”

**_“CYRILLO!”_ **

He’s snapped back to reality in an instant.

  
  


Kami is standing there still.

But one thing has changed.

The position of the knife that was in Kami’s hands earlier.

  
  
  


It’s not in her hands anymore.

It’s in his.

And he’s clutching it, as the handle of the knife protrudes from where the knife is sheathed in his own body.

Her hands are clutching onto his neck, as he is forced back up onto his own two feet by Kami.

(Unfortunately, not for long.)

He spits out more blood, as he's shoved to the ground, collapsing once again onto the floor, on his back.

“K-Kami- s’il vous p-plaît, I beg of you! Please! Stop!”

Kami is too far gone at this point, that same sinister smile of hers still remaining as she walks back over to Cyrillo.

The knife is immediately unsheathed again, as Cyrillo lets out a garbled scream of pain.

And then it’s immediately sheathed again.

In his lungs.

Puncturing them, cutting the alveoli in his left lung, much like how a harvester might trim off the grapes from the vineyard when they were ready to be picked.

He can’t breathe, though he tries to, gasping for air to the point of hyperventilation.  
  
But all he can do is whimper in horror like a little child, as the tears in his eyes stream out and mix into the blood streaming from him, tainting it, while he reaches out to the person he thought he could trust the most in this horrible killing game.

More murky, wine-red blood spills from his mouth and from his two wounds, staining his clothes indefinitely, impossible to remove (much like wine), as his vision starts to fade.

His vision blacks out, and the light in his eyes dies, his golden-yellow eyes losing their luster.

The outstretched hand loses its momentum, and falls into the wine that is Cyrillo’s blood.

One more burst of blood leaves his lips, a final firework to attest to that final moment of life still within him.

As that firework fades into sparks, and then dissipates into the black night sky of his eyes, Cyrillo D’Autriche is gone forever, his consciousness fading into nothingness.

He is shattered.

Forever.

  
  
  
  


The glass bottle of life, the label reading _Cyrillo D’Autriche_ , has shattered by Kami’s hands.

Cyrillo spills his wine everywhere, tainting the floor as more pours out, and he is unable to gather it back.

He’s ruined.

  
  
  


Cyrillo is broken beyond compare.

He shall never be repaired again.

  
For as they say…

  
  
  
  


**_...there is no crying over spilled wine..._ **

  
  
  
  
  


**_...and you cannot repair a broken glass._ **

**You can gather up the pieces and try to fix up the glass to the best of your ability, but at the end of the day, nothing can fix the fact that it's been broken.  
**


End file.
